The yells didn’t stop even after the door slammed shut. Caelan could still hear his mother’s voice, sharp and angry, cutting through the walls. He stayed quiet, staring at the floor as Gramps sat beside him, chair creaking under his weight. The scent of sweat and motor oil followed him everywhere, like it was part of him.

They sat in silence for a while. Caelan fidgeted with his fingers, trying not to think about the names his mother called him.

“It’s impressive.” Voice rough like gravel under tires. it always made Caelan feel calmer, safer. “A nine-year-old taking apart a whole-ass TV on his own.”

Caelan’s eyes stayed glued to the floor. “It’s the truth.”

His hand could crush a melon with one squeeze—even a head. But their grip never hurt, even when they looked like they should. “Right, then I’ll pretend I didn’t see the girl jumping out the window when we got back, deal?”

“Yes, Gramps.” Caelan picked at a scab on his knee, tempted to rip it off just to do something with his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you did it or that you got caught?” His thunderous laugh shook the room, making Caelan blush harder than ever. “I did the same shit when I was your age,”

Caelan’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Took apart the fridge. Didn’t have a cool grandpa to fix it for me, though, so I got a double thrashing when the bill came.” Gramps’s expression softened, his mechanical arm resting on his lap. “It’s funny. I can remember the fridge’s model, our dingy kitchen… but not my mama’s face. Guess I got too old.”

Caelan didn’t know what to say. Grown-ups always said things like that, things you weren’t supposed to understand yet.

But he would, one day. As much as he wished he didn’t.

The venerable man stood up with a grunt. “Welp, get your things. You’ll be spending some time with me.” Hand raised to curb the stream of protests about to come. “It’s this or I strangle your ‘sweet old mama’ for all the names she saying.”

“Alright…” He would need to find a way to sneak for a moment. He wouldn’t want Sam to worry.

“Besides, if you want to break shit apart, might as well learn how to put them back together.” He ended those words with a vigorous ruffle of the boy’s hair.

Break things apart and put them back together? That sounded like magic—a kind of magic Gramps could teach him. Perhaps things ended up better than expected, after all.

-----

Before Caelan’s hand could touch the wood, the door slammed open. Professor Falker had some of his hair singed and soot on his face, but a radiant smile. “Come in, come in my boy! And don’t mind the mess. Never bother with it, as I end up creating a new one before I’m finished cleaning.”

To call the place a mess did a disservice to all the unorganized spaces the young man had seen before. Caelan noted the lack of clear walking paths. Falker's workspace wasn’t just chaotic—it was a minefield for anyone unprepared. Unfinished projects cluttered the room, their purposes unrecognizable. Among the chaos, a half-finished painting leaned against the wall. A three-armed automaton loomed nearby. But most intriguing was the cross between a bear and a washing machine at the center.

Every inch of the walls had some tool hanged on it, from full sets of brushes to all manner of wrenches. He noted the care in how he arranged the wrenches, even if everything else seemed to be in disarray.

Caelan exchanged a quick glance with Leopold, who sneered at every direction. “This place is one spark away from blowing up.” The chaos reminded him of Gramps’ garage. Where tools and half-finished projects always seemed to coexist in harmony. A warmth spread through his chest.

Wasn’t home, but it felt close enough.

“Thank you for taking some time for me, professor.” Noticing him standing, Falkner pulled a chair covered in mechanical pieces. Without ceremony, the old master just dropped its contents on the ground and signaled for him to sit. “I know how valuable your time is.”

Falkner climbed on top of the automaton, arms fixed in an improvised chair. “My boy, the greatest gift my position affords me is delegating responsibilities. I let the others handle the boring stuff so I can focus on the fun.”

“Oh, that I can get behind.” Leopold interrupted his examination of the painting to look at the professor. “Though I doubt he delegates cleaning.”

“Anyway.” Falkner leaned forward, the scent of singed metal clinging to him as he clapped his hands. Caelan half-expected the machine to collapse under his weight. “Aethertec. It’s like trying to teach a stubborn cat to play fetch—impossible at first, but oh so satisfying when it works. Tell me how much you know of it”

He thought of the question for a few seconds, drawing what he learned from the games. “All machines and appliances use it. It’s powered by essence and can mimic almost anything a weaver can do. Assuming you can reverse-engineer the process. Like programmable magic, but less finicky.”

“Good, good.” Back now against the construct, the professor started playing around with one of its arms. “Now, explain the fundamentals of weaving, from the very beginning.”

For a second, Caelan thought he jested. But the single raised eyebrow signaled his seriousness. “People with affinity for it can draw one of the six types of essence—Ignis, Glacio, Aero, Lumos, Fulgur and Morus. By doing so, a weaver can create magical effects related to the element they can manipulate.”

Falkner nodded with entushiasm, tinkering with the automaton’s arm. Sparks flew, and Caelan pushed his chair back a few inches farther.

He took a glance at Leopold, his hand raised to eye-level. “Before the incident, I could manipulate lighting with the Fulgur affinity, for instance.”

Falkner asked about Blessings next. Caelan sighed on the inside. He explained how they are abilities unique to each individual. Supernatural capabilities beyond the usual system, in summary. Most people capable of weaving end up having one.

This last assertion had Leopold flinch a bit.

“Wonderful.” For some reason the master of aethertec shifted positions. He started hanging upside-down to look at Caelan. “To skip all complicated bits, Aethertec replicates all weaving techniques that use essence. Blessings are a different beast entirely, almost impossible to do so. Lends credit to them being a gift from the Matron, wouldn’t you say?”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Caelan thought back to the young woman chained down from the games. The art of her face contorted by despair stuck with him for days. “Perhaps.”

“The main difference between weaving and aethertec is consistency and usability. Any device can be used an infinite number of times. Always having the exact same effect. As long as you have a storage crystal, of course.”

“Understood.”

“And since the device itself is the one ‘drawing’ essence, even people without training or weaving capabilities can use them.” Falkner opened the chest of the construct. There lied an intricate web of runic patterns. “And this is how art is born! You inscribe the right sequence of runes as the commands. And when the circuit is closed, magic happens. Literally, in this case.”

Caelan studied the intricate web of runes, mentally tracing the patterns. It reminded him of electrical circuits back home. Different in design, but similar in principle. And its consistency was its biggest strength. No training, no talent—just a device and a crystal. He could see why its very recent introduction caught that world like wildfire.

Their very own industrial revolution. Only with magic instead of coal.

The professor pulled what looked like a pen with a glowing crystal at the tip. “Now, if you did a good enough job…” He added to the mess of symbols already underneath the construct’s chest. “You can achieve wonders!”

The machine roared to life, the air crackling with the sharp tang of ozone. Sparks danced along its limbs as it launched Falkner skyward. Caelan’s eyes darted to the nearest potential weapon—a wrench on the wall, a pipe near the desk. Years of training kicked in, calculating distance and angles. But before he could act, Falkner’s laughter pierced the air.

“Bloody fuck!” Leopold exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I knew this place was a madhouse, but no one ever listens to me.”

With a laugh, Falkner got picked up as he came down. Like an adult raising up a baby. Then, the machine placed him back on the ground, before shutting off. He adjusted his collar as if nothing had happened, his enthusiasm undeterred. “Now, the first step is to learn and practice the runes. Try to memorize this boring part by the end of the month, alright? Then we move to the real fun!”

He finished his sentence with a slap to the now dormant automaton.

-----

“You know, I’m not sure I have ever felt this sore.” Leopold watched over his old body like he had consumed sour grapes.

Caelan had finished another round of bag work and worked his way around taking off the gloves. “Explains why you so flabby.”

“Seriously, do you really need all that to lose weight?” The ghost started counting on his fingers. “Wake up at six, walk a shitload, then push-ups and all that crap. Then, before lunch all that lifting weights. And now, just before dinner, hitting the bag like a maniac!”

Caelan chuckled in the middle of swiping the sweat from his body. “We need strength, the real kind. And that requires muscle, so yeah, doing all that is a minimum.” He rolled his shoulders, the soreness radiating through his muscles. A reminder of his progress. “Besides, it’s not like there’s a shortcut to any of this.”

“And how do you know so much about weight loss and shit? Like, you made some very specific requests when rebuilding the dorm.”

Caelan sat down a bit, his mind wandering. “Had serious anger issues as a teen. Gram… my grandfather put me in boxing.”

Leopold stared at him with sheer skepticism. Then he claimed he hadn’t heard a single swear coming out of him, let alone anger. Mild irritation at best, in his words. Caelan grinned; the old gym clear as day behind his closed eyes.

“It doesn’t just teach you how to throw punches,” Caelan said, the old man’s gruff voice echoing in his head. “It teaches how to fight through everything—anger, fear, failure.”

“You’re weird, you know that?” Leopold crossed his arms, eyes away from him. “I don’t think I ever had the kind of discipline you’re putting my body through. Makes me wonder if I wasted it.”

The former soldier reflected on his words. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel anger anymore—it was there, lurking. Boxing had given him the tools to keep it in check, to turn it into something useful. “Better late than never.”

As they made their way back inside, they bumped into a girl. She dropped on the floor, the contents she carried spilling all over. One look at her and Caelan felt his jaw tightened for a moment.

“S-Sorry!” The girl adjusted her glasses before hurrying to pick all the scattered papers. “I should have seen where I was going!”

The young man sighed, crouching down to assist her. “It’s fine, lady Allonde.”

The second he got closer, she squealed and mover back a bit. Body trembling, she placed both hands over her mouth, looking at him like a prey staring up a predator.

With another sigh, he got up and stepped back. The tightness of his jaw stronger. “Sorry about that.”

He made his way inside, before crouching by the entrance, to take off his shoes and count down. The exact moment he hit fifteen, the girl entered, locking the door behind her.

With a fluid move, she undid the braid on her hair. A cascade of crimson came down, just as the slouched posture turned into a straight, chest puffed one. “I must say, nothing beats the feeling of shedding off outside Seraphina. I hope you enjoyed the performance, darling.”

Her transformation felt meticulous. Every motion had purpose, from the precise undoing of her braid to the shift in her posture. It was like watching someone step out of a role they’d rehearsed a thousand times.

“This still creeps the fuck out of me.” Leopold fixated on her as she passed them by, a massive smile while she waved at “Leopold”. “Only a psycho could do this!”

“Not that far from the truth, I guess.” Caelan scratched the back of his head as he walked with her. “You know, you don’t need to act so scared of me.”

“Oh my!” Her hand fluttered to her mouth, but her eyes gleamed with something sharp. “How else would little old Sera act? You wouldn’t want the big, bad ex-noble to get too comfortable, would you?”

“Just to clarify, I NEVER tried anything a girl didn’t want!” Leopold closed his hands into fists. “Wastes, I only attracted the gold diggers, seeing as I was a little overweight and all.”

“You call that a little?”

“Go fuck yourself with a barbed pole, Caelan!”

The scents of spices and meat crawled into his nostrils as they got inside the kitchen. There they found a young man clad in a floral apron. He hummed a slow song as he stirred whatever boiled at the pan. A warm smile greeted them both as they got inside.

“Welcome back you two. I made stew for dinner. No carrots for you, Sera, with lots of protein for you, Leopold.”

Caelan couldn’t help but give a genuine smile. “Thanks a lot, Lucien.”

Seraphina, for her part, walked like a model on a catwalk towards him. Then she delivered a peck to his cheek, making the boy turn as red as his dish. “Looks marvelous as usual! You sure you don’t want to come work as my personal chef?”

He fidget with the spoon while looking away. “I-I can… consider it…”

Caelan told them he would take a quick shower before eating. This would give them enough room so they could discuss all his activities for the day. Of spying on him, that is.

“I don’t like him.” Leopold throw daggers at the direction of the kitchen as the cold water hit their body.

“You not liking the nicest man alive? Color me shocked.”

“That’s not it!” The specter bit his lips for a few moments, before spilling the beans. “Look, I lived in a gang-filled slum as a child. You learn to recognize when something is wrong rather quick there. And something there makes me shiver.”

“Didn’t know you could have a physical reaction.”

“That look,” Leopold muttered, his voice low. “I’ve seen it before, back when I had to sleep with one eye open. It’s the kind you only get when you’ve learned how to hunt.”

Caelan assured him it must have been his imagination. He explained how the games showed Lucien lar Draeven as the kindest person alive. In fact, his main conflict during the first game reflected that. Balancing his executor's duties and nature. He expressed doubts on how accurate Leopold's instinct would be after years as a noble.

Unlike how he expected, Leopold didn’t give a snark reply. Instead, he kept pondering on it for the duration of the shower.

Back at the kitchen, the young Lucien served each plate with a generous portion of the stew. Seraphina held her cutlery with the dignity of a noble, while her feet kicked the air beneath the table.

Lucien’s movements felt deliberate. Each plate placed care of someone used to watching their every step. Seraphina, on the other hand, seemed lost in her own world. But Caelan noticed the way her gaze flicked toward him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking.

He would need to be careful. Not because they were to spy on him. But because they had major roles to play in the future story.

They held places among the “Neutral” companions, the ones present on all four routes. Neutral companions were bound by no allegiance to any of the four routes. Yet, remained critical to all. Their stories wove through many major decisions. Any change caused by interactions with him could jeopardize those.

Keeping them at arm’s length was the logical choice. Still, as he watched their easy laughter, a flicker of something tugged at him.

Regret?

No—just caution. For he couldn’t let the plot derail too much, or he would lose his greatest advantage. And that would make things a lot more complicated.